Cursing in French
by Toodleoo
Summary: Hermione didn't know why she was so fixated on Severus Snape. When she has the chance to go back in time, she has a rare opportunity to get closer to him. If only she weren't leaving him to his fate... (Time Turner. Rated M for language and sexual scenes.)


HEED THE WARNINGS: While I _think_ this is on the side of M versus MA, I understand that it could be debatable. If you're worried about that, please don't read this. If you're concerned about Obliviation or a teacher-student dynamic, however unusual, don't read. In other words, please read responsibly, and if you're under 18, please don't read at all.

* * *

 **Cursing in French**

 **by Toodleoo**

* * *

'Your mummy and I were playing.'

Six words.

Six little words that rang in Hermione Granger's ears years after they'd been spoken. She'd been four years old at the time, and like many, many children before her, Hermione's curious nature had led her into her parents' bedroom while she attempted to discover just what they were doing to produce those strange noises. Mummy, in particular, sounded like she was in pain. Was she hurt?

She wasn't.

At least, that's what she reassured her daughter with as she threw on a dressing gown and ushered Hermione back to her bedroom.

Thankfully, most of the specifics had faded over time. Hermione didn't need anything else to discuss in therapy.

* * *

The next time Hermione had encountered anything similar was whilst sneaking around Hogwarts corridors under Harry's special cloak. She borrowed it from time to time to duck back into the library for a little after hours reading from the non-circulating collection. That's how she became near-fluent in Mermish, after all. And Arabic.

And that's how she discovered what proper kissing looked like. One night in her fourth year, she found a Ravenclaw snogging Fleur Delacour in the stacks. It was almost midnight, and Hermione hadn't the foggiest idea as to how they'd made it inside the library. They didn't have a magical cloak, after all.

Hermione hadn't _meant_ to spy on them.

It just _happened._

As she was sitting down to read about the history of house-elves, she heard a high-pitched squeal coming from the back of the Potions section. And then a few grunts. All followed by a litany of French curse words that she wasn't really supposed to know, repeated in a breathy voice.

Settling herself under the cloak, Hermione tiptoed to the back to find Roger with his tongue down the French champion's throat, his fingers up under her grey skirt.

Honestly, it looked like he was eating her face off, but Fleur seemed to enjoy it, so who was Hermione to judge? Mesmerized by the way that their mouths never seemed to really line up properly or even stop moving, Hermione bit her tongue when Roger's other hand crept up to fondle Fleur's breast. Could he really do that? she wondered. He was still in school, after all. Hermione had always thought that that sort of thing was for older people.

Later, in the silence of the night, behind her drawn and heavily warded bed curtains, Hermione pushed and prodded at her own breast.

Wasn't this supposed to feel good? Like… like… _cursing-in-French_ good?

After a few minutes of poking around, Hermione gave up. What a waste of time! She could have learned another verb declension of Gobbledygook in the hour she'd just lost.

* * *

A month later, when she was at the Yule Ball on the arm of Viktor Krum, she found herself daydreaming about Fleur's private library time, and about sighs and mouths and hands under skirts.

He wouldn't want that, would he?

Viktor was a gentleman.

Or so Hermione thought. He'd kept his hands trained to her waist throughout the dancing portion of the evening. After they left the ballroom, however, he led her to a secluded alcove behind the statue of Ferdinand the Frail and proceeded to jam his tongue down her throat.

Hermione tried to make the best of it.

Really, she did.

It was her first kiss—first everything—so she didn't actually know what she was doing. She thought back to Roger and Fleur, and she began to touch Viktor's sternum while sort of shifting her head around a bit.

It didn't go well, what with her finger getting stuck in his button hole and their teeth clacking together like a pair of castanets.

He laughed in her face— _in her face!_ —and stopped. 'Leetle Hermoninny,' he said, taking her hand in his and patting her like a child, 'maybe we are just friends, yes? You are a veery nice girl.'

He kept his hands to himself after that.

It was humiliating.

* * *

When she became a prefect in her fifth year, Hermione had even more opportunities to study human sexuality in the wild. She confiscated a few smutty novels off an older girl out after hours once, and they… they may have gotten misplaced en route to Filch's cabinet.

Hermione justified it to herself under the guise of building her vocabulary.

Then there were the canoodling couples all over school. A pair of snogging Slytherins here, a pair of humping Hufflepuffs there. Grinding Gryffindors in abandoned classrooms, and…

Well, she couldn't think of anything that started with 'r.'

Perhaps she needed to reexamine one of her new books to find a proper word.

Hermione always watched for a while before busting them and sending them to detention. After all, Hermione was a practical girl. While she was honour bound to discipline the rule breakers, she wasn't about to skimp on a chance to learn something new.

* * *

It wasn't just students, either.

In the autumn of her sixth year, she was shocked out of her boots to find Professor Snape in his office with a beautiful woman bent over his desk. There was a great deal of moaning and sighing from that one, and Hermione was… unsettled, to say the very least, at seeing this new and different side to her professor.

 _Well_ , she thought, _I suppose even teachers have personal lives._

She'd already learned so much about the man in the past year: a spy, bravely infiltrating Voldemort's camp in order to protect all those on the side of good and light and whatnot.

She backed out, stunned, after not seeing much at all, but the image of the dark professor taking a woman from behind over his desk stayed indelibly etched on the backs of her eyelids.

That woman was so very happy.

Rapturously happy, and was Professor Snape…

 _No._

…smiling?

That particular memory made it terribly difficult to concentrate in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Whenever the professor was grumbling in her vicinity, Hermione thought of the dominant, confident way he moved that evening, thrusting his… his… his turgid length inside the woman's hot, wet sheath. (Those were the terms Hermione thought in, since she'd purchased a few smutty books without any literary merit whatsoever, and she'd learned that you should always describe the appropriate genitalia with words like 'turgid' and 'sheath.')

Snape wasn't even remotely handsome, and yet he'd figured out how to pull off basic life functions like sex. More than that, it appeared that he could make it rather enjoyable for both parties.

Hermione sighed.

Perhaps she was a hopeless case, doomed to live a sexless existence. Perhaps no man would ever try kissing her again, much less take her to the heights of ecstasy and release (or whatever her roommate's late-night whispers told her she should be expecting).

If only she were pretty.

Or if only she had some practical way to develop these sexual skills.

Then maybe somebody would want her.

Of course, if even _Professor Snape_ could get himself a partner, shouldn't that speak well for her own chances? He was intelligent, just like she was herself, and it translated to this raw kind of magnetism that drew in members of the opposite sex like moths to a flame.

Hermione wanted _that_ for herself.

Then and there, Hermione decided it was time to reevaluate boys—men—and how she approached them.

Right after they won that war.

* * *

For years after the war had ended, Hermione still thought about that evening with Severus Snape and the mysterious woman he'd snuck into Hogwarts.

Did he bring women there often?

Did he have any serious relationships?

Did Dumbledore know about this at the time?

She shouldn't have dwelt on it—she knew that—and maybe she was blowing up the whole incident in her imagination. After all, she'd been such a different person then, a young woman just waking up to the atrocities of war all while surviving puberty.

Now an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries, Hermione had found fulfilling work and was happy with her life.

 _Mostly_ happy.

There were a few niggling regrets about things she'd done in the past, but everyone had those, didn't they? She was an educated and talented witch, and she had a loving family, thoughtful friends, and fairly satisfying love life, even if there weren't any long-term relationships to show for it.

That, in and of itself, was a miracle, given her lackluster start.

Somehow, Hermione's sexual confidence sky rocketed after the war was over. Unafraid to ask questions, she found books and people to help her sort out all her bits and bobs. No longer content to wonder about the three dog-eared novels with heaving bosoms on their covers, Hermione sought out information that was infinitely more instructive. _The Joy of Sex_ , and others like it.

The decision to approach Dean Thomas after the war was probably the best one she ever made. For the life of her, she couldn't remember why she'd done it, but while everyone was holed up in the shell of Hogwarts, working on the castle repairs, Hermione had asked Dean to go for a walk around the Black Lake.

It led to some polite, but stilted conversation. ('Regular meals are lovely, aren't they?' 'Yes, starving in the Malfoy's cellar got a bit old after awhile.') There was an awkward kiss or two, and some more chatting about harmless things like football and the EU and studying for N.E.W.T.s. Another kiss followed. And then another. A little lighthearted groping, and Hermione found herself on the receiving end of her very first orgasm, courtesy of Dean's fingers stroking the undersides of her breasts and his lips on her nipple. Eventually, his tongue between her legs.

The strange thing was that she was thinking of Professor Snape the whole while. His lean body, his capable hands. What would they feel like on her skin?

She didn't think she was harboring any school girl fantasies of the man, but he was hard to shake. With each and every man she dated, she found herself comparing him to Snape. Was he as intelligent as the Potions Master? Did his eyes carry the same intensity that Severus's did? Was he a kind buffoon, or did he have a bit of an edge to him?

The worst was when she dated Viktor again in her mid-twenties. She'd been working on a hush-hush project for the Department of Mysteries in Greece, and decided to ring up Vicky in Bulgaria since she was in the neighbourhood. It had gone well in the beginning. They'd had a torrid affair that lasted until their third night in bed together, when Hermione called out "Severus! Oh, Severus!" at the grand finale.

All things considered, Viktor was discreet as they parted ways.

It was just a fixation, one that any psychologist would explain away, Hermione assumed, with the fact that Snape was the first man she actually remembered seeing perform sexually.

And yet...

She put off thinking of him as best she could.

Would she be doomed to a life without love, unable to connect with another man?

* * *

One day at work, an unusual opportunity fell into Hermione's lap.

Literally.

A pile of decommissioned Time-Turners, glass cracked from her escapade in her fifth year, slid off the top shelf and landed in Hermione's lap. They'd been ignored for years, assumed by all to be broken beyond repair.

Curious about the nature of the sands within and looking for a new research project, she petitioned her boss for the lot of them. The woman was adamant that Hermione wouldn't be able to discover anything new, but gave her three months' leave to work freely. Thus began Hermione Granger's study on the manipulation of time.

Her findings were extraordinary. After consuming a few droplets of Felix Felicis for luck, something she did before any big work project, Hermione dismantled the Time Turners, read a few thousand pages of some obscure books that would make anyone else's eyes bleed, performed some jiggery-pokery magic, and _voila_!

The most advanced Time Turners the world had ever known, capable of going back years in time, and of returning the traveller to their original were accurate, too, with a margin of error of roughly one hour per decade travelled.

The question, of course, was what to do with this gift. She should tell her supervisors, shouldn't she? That would be the responsible thing to do.

But perhaps she needed a bit more confirmation that her invention had been a success. Why not enjoy herself a little? Hermione decided that she'd work her way back chronologically, jumping in time by a few years at first before she worked up to bigger leaps across the quantum landscape.

So first, she went back to the London Olympics to watch the opening ceremony. It had been nice on the telly, but it was marvelous to see it in person! Next up was the wedding of Prince William and Waity Katie. Lovely nuptials, with all the pomp and circumstance they deserved. Then she jolted back to 2005 in order see the 200th anniversary of Trafalgar Square, and ended up wandering around the city, quietly laughing to herself at just how dated the fashion was.

Each time she jumped, she scooted a little further back in time, trying to make sure that the travelling didn't do anything traumatic to her body. So far, there hadn't been any problems.

Hermione considered the possibilities. She knew she wasn't supposed to interfere with past events, but it was hard to face Harry, knowing she had the chance to go back and try to save his parents. It was impossible anyway, since nobody could use time travel to change something as fundamental as life and death affairs. Of course, since every trip back in time necessarily changed something, she had to figure out just what she could do in the past that wouldn't affect the timeline she lived in now.

She thought about this often because, well, there was really only one thing that she utterly desired to experience.

Or… one person.

Hermione now had the tool to visit Severus Snape in the flesh. If she went back, she could both fuck him out of her system and also, she thought, provide him with a little human comfort during those last terrible years at Hogwarts.

Would that be too much?

She _had_ to try.

It wouldn't be like she was really impacting things. She would only see one human being, and that person was likely the most secretive man in England. Her presence—just one night with him—would go unnoticed by the world.

At least, that's what she told herself when she leapt back to January of 1997.

* * *

She landed at Aberforth's bar and snuck into Hogwarts through the portrait in the back room. _Really_ , she thought, _security was incredibly lax, considering the looming threat of Voldemort in the background._ How on earth did Dumbledore remain in the dark about this secret passage?

It was roughly eight o'clock when she made her way up to the castle. A quick Disillusionment Charm, and she wandered about the castle, trying to find the dark man. Heating up under her heavy coat, Hermione shrugged it off and shrank it, putting the miniature in the back pocket of her jeans. After looking around the staff quarters and the dungeons, Hermione finally found him in the Defence classroom. Peeking through the glass in the door, she saw the man hunched over his desk at the front of the room.

And there she paused.

What was she supposed to do now?

She stood outside the door, contemplating the words she might use to make the man trust her. _Hello, Severus, I know I'm a complete and total stranger to you, but I'd love you to drop trou and take me. Oh, and I'm actually Hermione Granger, one of your least favourite students, but I rather fancy you. Why am I your age? Well, you see…_

Frustrated at her own stupidity, Hermione's spirit crumpled and her head dropped against the door. She took a deep breath. This was a mistake. She could still turn around, though, and—

The door opened, and there he stood.

In the flesh.

Severus Snape.

He was young and he was _alive_ , his hair swinging in front of his face. Before she had the chance to open her mouth, he yanked her inside and closed the door behind her. He had his wand at her throat while he grasped her wrists with his free hand.

'Who the fuck are you?' he demanded, digging the wood into her jugular. 'How the hell did you make it into the castle?'

She shuddered at his intensity, directed entirely at her. All her nerves were alight, and she was faced with the reality of the man she'd wanted for nearly two decades. Here, with his hands on her body, she found that she had never been more turned on in her life.

This close to him, she could smell his skin and see his chest rise and fall with every breath he took. His eyes were cold, but they searched her out, and she was caught in his thrall.

He repeated himself in a whisper. 'Who are you?'

'No one of consequence,' she said, trying to keep her voice as soothing and as gentle as she could. She wouldn't get anywhere with the man if he murdered her before she ever got to kiss him. 'A woman who wants to get to know you, Severus.'

He flinched at the sound of his name on her lips. 'Is this some idea of a sick joke? Did Dumbledore send you? Lucius?'

With each word, the wand dug further into her neck. It was uncomfortable, but Hermione refused to let it bother her. Instead, she tried to present herself as openly as she could so that Snape would calm down and they could talk. She gazed into his eyes, willing him to trust her. They really were nice eyes, she noticed. He might have needed a little dental work to tidy up those teeth of his, but—

'My teeth are perfectly adequate, you judgmental harpy!' he cried.

 _Oh, no_ , Hermione thought. _It was only logical that Snape would have used his Legilimency in order to suss her out. If only she—_

'Granger?' he asked, eyes wide.

 _Damnit, Hermione_ , she told herself. _Why did you never learn Occlumency in your Unspeakable training?_

He dropped his wand in shock and took a few steps back, his eyes sweeping up and down her body.

She was delighted to notice them lingering on her breasts. Maybe this was going to be easier than she thought.

'Hermione Granger?' he asked again. He raised his wand, directing it at her heart. 'I'm supposed to believe that you're really Hermione Granger? And an Unspeakable at that?'

'Who else would I be? I'm a crap Legilimens, just like I was always a crap liar,' she said, her arms outstretched and her palms facing up in a supplicating pose. 'Didn't you just see for yourself who I am?'

He paused. 'Whilst I know _now_ that Minerva irresponsibly trusted you with a Time Turner a few years ago, those devices are limited in scope. How far has anyone ever travelled with one—a few days at most? A week?'

Hermione smiled, feeling a bit smug. Now he'd finally be impressed by her accomplishments.

'Why the fuck should I be impressed by—'

'Damnit, Snape!' she cried, closing her eyes and clapping her hands over them as she attempted to oust him from her thoughts. 'I know you're good at this, but can you please get out of my brain and let me use my own words in this bloody conversation? You've never been good with the basic rules of politeness, but I'm asking you to try.' She then slid her fingers open just a crack to peek through them.

She saw him shrug, an odd gesture that she never would have associated with Professor Snape. 'Fine,' he said. He crossed his arms over his narrow chest and began circling her like prey. 'I'll play... _nice_.'

'Thank you!'

'Do allow me to sum up the facts as I see them,' he drawled.

She dropped her hands and nodded. 'Go ahead. I'll answer any other questions you have as honestly as I can, given the circumstances.'

He began ticking items off on his long fingers. 'One: you are, inexplicably, Hermione Granger.'

She nodded.

'Two,' he continued. 'You are visiting from the past. Since you're roughly… thirty-five? Thirty-six?' he asked.

'Thirty-seven,' she answered, pleased that his guesses were low.

'Thirty-seven,' he repeated. 'Just as I am. But I'm sure you knew that already?'

'Of course,' she said. 'I know a lot about you, Severus.'

He continued on as though she hadn't spoken. 'Since you are thirty-seven years of age, I can only surmise that you have descended upon me from the year 2016 or 2017.'

'2016, yes.'

'Three,' he said, continuing to pace around her in a slow circle, 'since you, famed Muggle-born Hermione Granger, are evidently _alive_ in 2016, I can further deduce that the Dark Lord failed in his inane and ultimately pointless quest to eradicate nine-tenths of the world and repopulate with sycophantic, inbred Purebloods.'

She paused. _Would it reveal too much to Severus about the future if she let him know that Voldemort would end in ruin?_

'Your hesitation is all the confirmation I need,' Snape said. He stopped in front of her and took a step nearer. 'Good. I'm glad that mad man will meet his end.'

'I didn't say that, _per se_ , but…'

'I suppose you can't tell me how he's snuffed out?' he asked. When she refused to answer, he began describing his favourite method of surviving long staff meetings at Hogwarts. 'You have no idea how tedious they can be, Granger. I just start mentally rifling through all the ways I'd like to watch the Dark Lord die. Devoured by that damn snake of his is a good one, but being hit by the Knight Bus would also be satisfying. Sometimes, I'll just picture him choking on a chicken bone.'

Hermione stifled a giggle. 'I would imagine that listening to Albus drone on would make you want to off _him_ instead.'

He looked up and flashed her a shy smile, his crooked teeth revealed for the first time. 'One in a position like mine knows that there's a time and place for everything. I think about the Dark Lord's death in Hogwarts staff meetings, and about Dumbledore's death during Death Eater gatherings. It is, as they say, better to be safe than sorry.'

'And how would you like Dumbledore to go? Any large vehicles there? He doesn't have a pet snake, and I doubt Fawkes would turn on him.'

'He's simple,' Snape answered flatly. 'Slip a tasteless poison into a batch of homemade lemon drops, and you're all set. At his age and with his blood sugar levels, nobody would bat an eyelid.'

'True,' Hermione said. 'It'd be quick and painless, unlike his foolish…' Her voice trailed off as she held up her hand, wordlessly telling Snape that she knew about Dumbledore's brush with black magic and his impending death.

The professor's eyes widened, and he nodded in understanding. He shook his head, and returned to his list. 'Four. You managed to re-engineer a Time-Turner to allow you to jump two decades into the past, and surely you understand the ramifications of time travel and the butterfly effect, et cetera, et cetera.'

'Yes,' she whispered. _Where exactly was Severus going with all this?_

'And yet you revealed yourself to me nevertheless, knowing that whatever you tell me will change the future.'

'Yes.'

'Which means,' he said, taking a step back and leaning on the edge of his desk, 'that I do not have long to live. Do I die soon? This week?' He turned away, sounding strangely despondent. 'This night?'

Hermione didn't know what to make of it. A hopeless Snape was completely at odds with the cocksure arse she remembered from her youth. Deciding that she needed to encourage him, she walked around to him and gently laid her hands on his shoulders. 'Severus, you… you're not dying tonight.'

'So it's soon, then.' His eyes were focused on the wall beyond her, as though she weren't even there.

Hermione sighed. 'I… I can't… You know I can't tell you anything about your life in my world.'

He looked up then, making eye contact once again.

'I wish I could tell you that your life were an easy one, but I can't tell you anything about the future. I think you'll agree that…' Hermione kept bleating on about social responsibilities and time travel not quite catching onto the intensity of Snape's gaze. 'When Elphard Tuckingham postulated that the quantum mechanics of—'

'You want to _fuck_ me?' Snape said, interrupting her with all the tact of stampeding bulls.

Hermione clapped her hands over her eyes again. 'Snape, what did I say about Legilimency? Are you a fucking idiot or are you just _that_ rude?'

'You're one to talk,' he said, snorting aloud. 'You use that brain of yours to master time travel in a fashion never before heard of, and you use it to visit royal weddings and to fuck your old teacher?'

'I was trying to keep the continuum of time intact!' Hand on her hip, she bristled with a righteous, if misplaced, anger.

'By coming back to bed me.' He sounded doubtful, and he stood up, continuing to laugh her off. 'Why would you, this… you… this… Hermione Granger want me? With tits like those,' he said, gesturing towards her décolletage, 'any man in England would want you. Well,' he added, amending his statement, 'not Draco or any of his Pureblood cronies, but any other man with eyes would be happy to take you.'

He liked her body? Thought other men would want her? Hermione decided to go for the honest approach. She stepped close to Severus, threading her fingers through the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. Am I pushing him too far, too fast? she wondered. Or does he need to hear this very thing?'I've thought about you for years, Severus,' she said, purring the words into his ear. 'Really, it's become a tad obsessive. Surely you know what it's like to have a person hanging about your psyche for far longer than they should?'

'Don't,' he said, his voice soft and vulnerable. 'You know?'

'About Lily?' She swallowed, petting his neck in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture. 'I do. You told… someone… about your past. It was necessary for the war.'

He held himself rigidly, clinging to his defenses. 'The world knows? I must be a laughingstock. Poor Snivellus, who couldn't get a—'

'The world knows you as a hero.'

'Oh, fuck. I really am going to die, aren't I?' He tried to pull away from her, but she held onto him tightly. 'I always suspected I would die, but to have it confirmed from—'

'Wait!' Hermione cried, shaking him gently. 'I… I didn't say that. I couldn't, of course. Continuum of time, you know.'

She kissed him on the lips, a soft, lingering touch that left him whimpering. 'Maybe you lived beyond the end of the war,' she said. 'Maybe you ended up falling madly in love with your former student, and maybe we're married, Severus, and I just wanted to…' She grasped at straws. 'To fuck a much younger and more virile version of the man I loved?'

He scoffed in her face. 'Weak, Granger.'

Shrugging, she had the decency to look chagrinned.

He began pushing her away, pushing her buttons as he challenged her words. 'Do I grey around the temples, Mrs. Snape? Or do I totally go to pot, gain four stone, and stop washing behind my ears? Maybe I end up maimed in the war, and when I'm yours, I've got extensive nerve damage and I can't get it up for you?'

'Fine!' she cried, frustrated now. 'I forgot what an arse you could be when you were feeling defensive, so I'm going to encourage you to shut it while I speak my peace.'

He held up his hands in defeat.

'I'm offering selfishly, I know,' she said. 'I do want you, Severus. Want to taste you, want to feel you, want to know what it's like to yield to you. But I also thought…' She paused, searching for the right words. 'Everyone thought the worst of you, and you don't deserve that. You never deserved that. Dumbledore put you in an impossible situation, and asked far too much from you. I'm someone who knows who you really are and what's being asked of you, and I want to be with you, Severus Snape. I came back for you. You are a good man.'

He looked at her then, and something changed.

He saw her.

And he saw what she was offering.

Throwing all his inquiries about time travel and her intentions out the window, Severus kissed her fiercely, like this was his last night on earth. For all he knew, it was. His kisses were greedy, his hot tongue sliding into her mouth roughly, taking more of her than giving of himself, but Hermione was happy to receive him.

She sighed. Twenty years of wanting this man—or, perhaps, wanting the idea of this man—and now she was finally in his arms. It was, she thought, sort of like seeing the Eiffel Tower in person for the first time. After seeing photographs for years, she thought she knew what to expect. Faced with the reality of her dreams, she was overwhelmed.

His hands slid down her torso and cupped her arse, squeezing her flesh and pressing her tightly against his body.

She squeaked in reply, startled by the suddenness of his movements.

And he burst out laughing. 'You're certain you're a woman and not a mouse, Granger?'

'Positive,' she answered. She took his hands and placed them on her derriere once more.

'I don't think I can call you Granger, knowing I still have to teach an impressionable Miss Granger on Tuesday,' he said, a soft pink tinge to his cheeks. 'May I call you Hermione, or would that be too…?'

'Intimate?' she asked.

He nodded.

Hermione was touched and amused at the backwardness of their situation. He had such peculiar ideas about being a gentleman. 'I'm hoping that we'll be exponentially better acquainted by the time this evening is over, Severus.'

Spurred on by her words, Severus squeezed her arse and lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist. He turned back to the large wooden desk, setting her on its edge. Standing between her open legs, he took a step back to look at her. 'Gods, but you're beautiful.'

His fingers at the hem of her jumper, he looked up to make sure she was still on board.

She nodded. 'Please, Severus.'

After she had given her consent, he lifted the thing off her in one swift movement and chucked it to the floor. Faced with her black lace bra, his hand idly traced the scar that cut across her chest. He looked up at her again. 'I would know this anywhere.'

She looked at him quizzically.

'I had to examine you. Poppy asked me to make a cream for your scars after your asinine play at the Ministry last year.'

'Twenty years ago for me,' Hermione said. She lifted his hand to her lips and gave a gentle kiss. 'I owe you my gratitude. Honestly, I had no idea.'

'It's faded so much,' he said.

'Scars do, you know.' Using just one finger, Hermione tipped his chin up and locked eyes with him. 'It just takes…'

 _Time._

The word caught in her throat.

'If only I had some of that,' he said.

She threw her arms around him then, sniffling against his black shirt. She hadn't expected him to be any good with emotions, but he just rubbed circles on her back as though she were a small child. When she got herself under control, she leaned up and whispered in his ear. 'There must be another way. Another country, another ministry? Can't you get out?'

Severus dug in his pocket to retrieve a handkerchief embroidered with his initials. He passed it over, and when he spoke, his voice was resigned. 'So maudlin, Hermione. All this talk of death obliterates the mood you were setting earlier.'

She let out a sort of half-laugh, half-sob as she wiped her eyes. 'I've made a stink out of it, haven't I?'

'So far,' he said, 'you've been the most maddening and pleasant surprise of this whole shit year.'

She blew her nose, and tried to hand the cloth back over.

'I never expected to live,' he explained, throwing the handkerchief on top of her shirt, 'and after the life I've had, I'm still not sure there's anything more for me in the world.'

Hermione laid her hand on his heart. 'I wish things were different.'

'Given that they're not,' he replied, 'I still have a beautiful woman alone in the castle. She's almost topless, and she claims to want me. This isn't the worst day of my life by a long shot.'

She let out a hearty laugh and smacked his chest. 'All you want is a leg over, is that it?'

'If today is all we have, Hermione, I will enjoy you as many ways as I possibly can before I let you go.' He unbuttoned his shirt at the wrists while she tackled the ones on his chest. When enough of the buttons were free, he lifted it over his head, dropping it on the floor. 'Besides,' he added, 'if all I wanted was a leg over, I could have had someone else.' He leaned in and kissed her lips briefly. 'I want a leg over you.'

The pair made fast work of the rest of their clothes, shimmying out of trousers and pants. When they were finally free, Severus laid her out on his desk like a holiday feast. His fingers skimmed her body lightly, going up one leg and down another. He traced each of her toes, each of her fingers, and she tried not to squirm under his touch.

'What do you like, I wonder?' he asked, fingernails gently stimulating the undersides of her breasts.

She whimpered. Everything. 'Is that a hypothetical question?' she asked.

'If we had more time together,' he said, circling ever closer to her nipples with his clever fingers, 'I'd know your body as well as my own.'

'Better,' Hermione interjected.

'How do you suppose that?'

'Nobody can see their own back without extensive mirrors,' she said.

'A mere technicality,' he replied. Summoning his wand, he slashed at the air a few times, moving the classroom mirrors above the desk. 'But the idea is sound. Have you ever watched yourself, Hermione?'

She shook her head. 'I think I'd feel like a voyeur.'

Leaning down, he took her breast in his mouth, suckling hard. With a free hand, he flicked her neglected nipple to a hard point.

She nearly came then and there.

'Gods, the thought of two of you,' Severus said. He gestured up at her reflection in the mirror. 'Look at yourself, woman. Are you or are you not the hottest thing you've ever seen?'

'Two? I think even you, Severus Snape, might be at a loss.' Hermione let out a low, throaty laugh as she regained her composure. 'What on earth would you do with four breasts?'

He kissed her again. After a few moments, his mouth traced the column of her neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses. Down her throat, down the scar that she'd had for years. Down her soft belly.

Oh, gods, she thought. I may not survive this man.

He pulled up a chair then, sitting down at the end of the table, and he tugged her body to the edge so that he could devour her at his leisure, her legs draped over his shoulders. He licked her as though she were coated in the nectar of the gods, and he slid his fingers inside her, slowly, to test the waters. Hermione's hands tangled in his hair, holding him to her body as he lapped at her. When she exploded in his hold, he had to pin her legs in place to keep her wild thrashing from killing him prematurely.

He was marvelous.

While she was still shaking, he stood up and leaned over her.

'You're a mess, you know,' she said, her voice languid and teasing. 'I think there's a handkerchief around here somewhere.'

A wave of his hand, and he was clean once more.

He smiled down on her. 'Did you watch yourself in the mirror?'

'No,' she said. 'I watched you.'

He tut-tutted at her in mock indignation. 'So disrespectful, Hermione. Ignoring the gift I procured for your use?'

She sat up, resting her arms on his shoulders. 'You can try to spank me, but I doubt you'll get far with that. Any kind of power play turns me off.'

'In that,' Severus replied, 'we are in agreement. I've spent too much time under the control of others to ever want to play like that with a partner.'

In that moment, Hermione tightened her hold on the man and simply kissed him. She didn't know how much time had passed, since she was simply reveling in the feel and smell of him. His chest, firm against her bare breasts. The heat of his body compared to the cool air in the room.

If only this could continue forever...

Taking him in her hand, Hermione began stroking him to hardness. 'It's not a spanking,' she murmured deviously, 'but I wouldn't turn down a nice, hard fuck on your desk.' She slid off the wood and turned around, bending at the waist as she straightened her legs.

His hand found its way to her upper back, pressing her chest to the desk. 'I am nothing if not an obliging man.'

She felt the brush of his cock against her opening, and before she had the chance to challenge him, he entered her body in one fluid move. Her cheek on the wood, she sighed contentedly as Severus picked up the pace.

And then—

Hermione suddenly had the most striking sense of déjà vu. Something tickled in the back of her brain.

She pushed it aside, losing herself in the moment, and soon enough, she and Severus were drowning in one another.

Ever the gentleman, he spelled them both clean when they were through. Then he wrapped her in his black coat, taking her on his lap as he wrapped his arms around her and breathed her in.

He nuzzled her neck. 'What an absurd risk you took coming here.'

'It was a bit mad, wasn't it?' Hermione threaded her fingers through his, squeezing his hand in assurance. 'Come now. It's like you've never brought women back to the castle.'

He stilled. Then he moved to the side to look at her. 'I haven't.'

This was surprising. After all, Hermione had seen him with a woman that time. She had simply assumed that he brought others back to campus, but maybe the woman she saw was in the future. 'Never?'

'Never,' he repeated, adamant. 'All rumpy-pumpy is conducted off campus. What do you think the rooms above the Three Broomsticks are for?

'But I saw you… once… with a woman,' she said, faltering as she put together all the pieces of this puzzle. 'Oh, Merlin. That means… Oh, god, was that me? My younger self is here somewhere. '

'What?' Severus shrieked.

Hermione leapt up and wordlessly summoned her wand. One flew up at her from the pile of clothes at the front of the classroom. She plucked it from the air. However, a second wand—one that bore a striking resemblance to the piece of wood she was currently holding—flew at her from a slit in the store cupboard in the back.

Hermione stood up to grasp the second wand. 'Miss Granger?' she called. 'There's no need to fear. You're not in any trouble.'

'Like hell she isn't!' Severus yelled. 'What the fuck is she—were you—doing here at all?'

A terrified teenager emerged from the cupboard, still dressed in her pleated skirt and Gryffindor jumper. She was as pale as Nearly Headless Nick, and she looked like she'd rather be petting Blast-Ended Skrewts or going out for a leisurely broomstick ride than still be there in the Defence classroom.

Hermione kept her laughter in check as Miss Granger inched her way forward. She tried to imagine what she would have thought of this as a student, finding her professor with a bit of totty after hours. How strange it was, knowing that she was that very bit herself!

'I'm sorry, sir,' she stammered, her eyes steadfastly on the floor. 'I was performing my rounds, and I heard a noise, and I wasn't sure what it was, and I came into the classroom, and then I heard another noise, and it was you, and I hid in the cupboard, and then I—'

'Enough, enough!' he snarled. 'One hundred points from—'

'No,' Hermione interjected.

Snape and Miss Granger both looked surprised.

'What in bloody hell are you doing, Hermione?' Severus asked.

'Hermione?' Miss Granger asked, her gaze darting between the naked professor seated behind his desk and the woman wearing nothing but Snape's coat.

Stroking the smooth skin of his cheek, the older woman gazed into his eyes and ignored her younger self for the moment. 'That's me.'

'Your powers of observation astound me.' He spat out the words like poison drawn from a wound. 'Of course she's you! All the more reason to Obliviate her and send her on her way!'

Hermione reached up, placing her index finger on his lips. 'You have nothing to fear from her.' He was already so on edge, and she didn't want him to have any more aggravation in life than necessary.

Next, Hermione looked back at her teenaged counterpart. 'Before you ask, yes, I'm you. If you continue down the path you're on, you'll break some fascinating ground with time travel.'

Miss Granger took this information in slowly. She nodded her understanding, even though she was clearly bursting at the seams with questions.

Hermione, remembering her insatiable curiosity at that age, was impressed that the young woman was keeping mum. She took pity on her. 'I'm sorry this year is so terrible. If it helps knowing that there's an end in sight, please let me assure you that things will get better. It just won't be anytime soon.'

The young woman walked closer still, her curiosity tempted by this most unusual situation. 'I'm sure you can't tell me anything terribly important about the future, or even about my—er… your—or… our—life. But can you tell me how you got your hair to look like that?' she asked.

Hermione grinned. 'It's a charm. It won't be invented until you're twenty-three, but it will save you so much time in the morning, you won't believe it.'

'Would anyone like to hear what I find unbelievable?' Snape bellowed, slamming his hands down on his desk, open-palmed. 'The fact that you,' here he looked at his lover, 'are a Ministry official, and you have no problem with the fact that a Hogwarts professor is in his classroom, nude, with a child in the room.'

Miss Granger huffed in indignation. 'I will have you know, Professor Snape, that I am not a child in either the Muggle or Magical worlds. I am over 18 years old, thanks to my… er… Time Turner use in my third year. I may be a student,' she said with precision and emphasis, 'but I am perfectly capable of making decisions in my life as an adult.'

Hermione laughed with her. 'He's got a lot of nerve, doesn't he?'

The young woman sighed. 'I know that you've got a crucial role in the war, sir. I'll submit to any Obliviation you deem necessary. It's just…' Her voice dropped off and she looked back at Hermione. 'You're happy?'

'Yes, we're very happy.'

'Clearly, I'm a researcher and a Ministry worker, so that must mean the Department of Mysteries.'

'Got it in one,' Hermione said, smiling.

'Do I ever marry?' Miss Granger asked. 'Or have children?'

'I…. I…' Hermione stammered. 'I think that might be too much information.'

Miss Granger sighed. 'I thought you'd say that.' She leaned in close, examining her 37-year-old face. 'You're prettier than I thought I'd ever be.'

Hermione frowned. 'I was always too self-conscious. I'm sure right about now that you're kicking yourself because you don't resemble Lavender Fucking Brown, but there are other fish in the sea besides Ronald Weasley.'

'I just don't want to end up alone.'

The young woman sounded so sad and forlorn that Hermione threw her arms around her in a hug. 'You'll get much, much better with men. Track down Dean Thomas. He'll be good for you.'

'But he's dating Ginny right now!' Miss Granger protested.

'After things calm down a bit, then. You'll learn a lot, and you know _I know_ how much you love to learn.'

Miss Granger blushed.

'This is absolutely preposterous!' Snape said. His voice was calmer now, as though he had made up his mind to go along with the Time-Traveller and her nonsense.

'Oh, shut it, Severus,' Hermione said, waving off his concern. 'Do you remember what it was like at seventeen? It was terrible. Puberty was wretched for me. I had to listen to all these randy classmates of mine while I was being a good girl, and yet I couldn't even frig myself properly. I had no earthly idea what an orgasm was.'

Miss Granger spoke up in protest. 'I have had an orgasm. I think.'

'No darling,' Hermione said, smirking. 'You haven't.'

Miss Granger's eyes were wide as saucers as she stared at the older version of herself, wand raised. 'What are you… what are you doing?'

'Remember: Dean Thomas,' Hermione said. Then she raised her wand to the young woman's temple, selected _almost_ all of the past few hours, and said the word. ' _Obliviate!_ '

Miss Granger blinked a few times, and Hermione ushered her out to recover and walk back to her tower. Miss Granger would fall asleep soundly, and when she awoke, the only memory of the evening would be one of standing outside the classroom, watching Professor Snape making love to a beautiful woman.

As the door clicked shut, Hermione felt Severus's arms winding their way around her torso. 'As… illuminating as that experience was,' he drawled, 'I'd much rather have you to myself. You were entirely right about four breasts being overkill. A man only has his hands and his mouth, so somebody is bound to feel left out.'

Hermione turned in his embrace and brushed his sweat-slick hair from his eyes. 'I don't want to go just yet.'

So she didn't.

He led her to his quarters, the frantic energy between them spent. In its place was something tender and quiet, and Hermione had never felt more loved and known in her life.

When the sun rose, she knew it was her time to go.

* * *

Hermione was heartsick when she returned to her little flat. Everything looked a bit shabbier upon her return to her own time. The carpet was thinner, worn beneath her feet. The lamps gave off a dull sort of light, and Severus Snape was no longer in the world.

So much for getting the man out of her system.

She dropped the Time Turner on her kitchen table and toed off her shoes, heading to the liquor cabinet in order to toast her own foolishness. Twenty-four hours earlier, she had wondered if she would ever be able to fully love another man.

Now she knew the truth. Severus was _it_ for her. She'd never had that kind of compatibility with anyone before, and she doubted she'd ever find it again. No, he was now her everything, and he was gone.

Bottle of gin in hand, Hermione trudged off to her bedroom. She'd just managed to collapse on the bed when the doorbell rang. Just her shit luck.

She waited, hoping they'd take the hint and go away.

They didn't.

Spritzing herself liberally with the nearest perfume, Hermione pinched her cheeks and headed for the door. When she opened it, she found the person she was least expecting.

 _Severus Snape._

Severus Snape, with a smattering of _grey_ through his hair.

Severus Snape, still dressed all in black, looking bashful and unsure of himself on her front stoop.

'How is this possible?' she gasped, drinking in the sight of him, afraid to touch him lest he shatter into a thousand pieces or be swept off in an apparition into the wind. 'You _died!_ '

'No, Hermione,' he said, speaking quietly under his breath, 'I... I did _not_.'

She couldn't do anything but stare. Severus was alive and well, and she wanted to throw him up against a wall and snog the sense out of him. Wanted to strip him of his clothes and examine his fifty-year-old body in detail. Wanted to brew him a cup of tea and curl up beside him on the sofa as though she'd done that very thing every day for years, and would continue to do so for the foreseeable future.

She wanted to do a thousand things, but she couldn't even make herself move.

He wasn't throwing his arms around her or making any big declarations. _Did he regret everything they'd shared?_

'If I may,' he said, his hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks. 'This conversation is not for the public to overhear.'

She ushered him in and put the kettle on to boil while she rifled through the cabinets for the biscuits to offer him. Unceremoniously dumping the broken HobNobs out on a plate, she rushed back to join him.

'I may have taken your words to heart, twenty years ago,' he said. His voice had dropped a little in pitch and had gotten a bit of a rasp since she'd seen him last. It suited him.

'You mean yesterday,' she clarified.

'Same thing, isn't it?' He smiled his crooked smile at her, and she was lost.

Oh gods, she'd turned into one of those terribly sappy women. She couldn't help herself, but she found every part of him even more wonderful. The lines around his eyes were endearing, and his teeth had clearly been attended to by a top notch orthodontist.

'I suppose it is,' she agreed, wanting was to curl up in his pocket forever, or at least—for now—just to reach out and touch him.

'Other departments in the Ministry, you said. Do you remember? I followed that advice, and went to offer myself to the Unspeakables right after you left me that night. It turned out that they'd been watching me since the first war,' he said. He picked up one of the oaty biscuits and took a bite. 'Gods, I love these. They're so much better than plain digestives.'

'They are!' Hermione said, secretly pleased that they had something else in common besides one night of incredible sex and a penchant for libraries. 'Back to the Unspeakables, though.'

'Yes,' he said. 'The Head Spook took me on immediately. He had me carry antivenin and Blood Replenisher at all times from then on out, but he never let me in on any of the department's plans for me.'

'We're terrible like that,' Hermione said. The whistle from the kettle signaled the boiling water, so she hopped up, filled the teapot, and brought it back to the table. 'Continue.'

He spun a thrilling tale of what he'd been up to. He'd killed Dumbledore atop the Astronomy Tower and set off with Draco Malfoy on the run. Returned to Hogwarts as Headmaster, and tried to protect the students until Voldemort himself showed up for the Final Battle. He'd been set upon by that appalling snake in the Shrieking Shack, and he'd been left for dead. Before he passed out on the cold, dirt floor, he'd managed to drink all the potions in his pockets.

When he woke up, he was in a sparse white room, his throat bandaged. A Healer was by his side. And so were two women, dressed in black and armed with the possibility of a new life for Severus Snape, Unspeakable.

'I've been waiting for you, Hermione,' he said, taking her hand in his.

Her breath caught in her chest. _He still wanted her!_

His thumb thrummed over her fingers, and as he spoke, he sounded hesitant and a bit shy. 'I've been waiting for a very long time. I am not a young man any longer, but if you'll have me—'

Her kiss was her reply.

* * *

 _Fin._

* * *

 _Thank you, dear readers, for the reviews and the faves! Those are the only things that let me know I should keep writing._


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